


Runaway

by Laineyvb131



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Dogs, F/M, First Meeting, Origin Story, Romance, Young Love, dogs can be annoying, new romance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laineyvb131/pseuds/Laineyvb131
Summary: Elizabeth & Henry, a dog, and a park bench. An origin story.
Relationships: Elizabeth McCord/Henry McCord
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Runaway

Elizabeth Adams trudged along the sidewalk, her tattered flip flops slipping on the early autumn leaves scattering the concrete. Much to her chagrin, she had thought being alone for reading week would be conducive to more effective studying, her roommate’s ‘it wouldn’t kill you to study less and have a little fun’ a resounding critique of Elizabeth’s social life, or lack thereof. She really needed to study, and really needed to ace her midterms. Just doing ‘well’ wasn’t going to cut it, not by Adams standards. Her mostly upperclassmen course load didn’t allow for boyfriends or weekend excursions. But Becky cooked for them both, so her absence meant more ramen, dumplings, and pizza, and an alternative was much more appealing.

Consequently, Elizabeth agreed to care for their neighbor’s dog for the weekend in return for enough casseroles and side dishes to feed her for a month. Admittedly, she recognized the bribe for what it was, and the appeasement of her voracious appetite overcame her tainted perception of the dog itself. The dog was cute, she supposed- a little black and white mixed breed of sorts, a bit like a miniature panda, with fur like a shag rug, a slightly smushed nose, and black patches over both eyes. But the dog wasn’t a panda and didn’t loll in the sun lazily eating bamboo all day, tumbling down slides to amuse itself. It barked. Constantly. And chased absolutely everything, undaunted by the size of the thing it was chasing. One solitary Friday night into their weekend and Elizabeth realized she’d made a poor decision.

On Saturday, Elizabeth woke as early as her brain could feasibly manage to sleepily feed and water the dog; after brewing a full pot of coffee, she hunkered down over her textbooks. After no less than 10 minutes, she heard scratching at the shared duplex wall; at 20 minutes, low, steady whimpering, and by half an hour, the dog was barking at full throttle. By the time she’d suffered through an hour of the commotion, her headache throbbed beyond what any amount of caffeine could fix. With the thought of another 12 hours of studying- and barking- ahead of her, Elizabeth slammed shut her book, jostling her coffee mug and sloshing hot dark liquid all over her notes. Muttering salty curses, she hastily threw dish towels over the mess, hoping by some miracle she didn’t ruin weeks’ worth of work. Another textbook- one she loathed- thudded against the wall, provoking 15 seconds of blessed silence. At 16 seconds came a whimper, and then the high pitched barking resumed at an even greater intensity.

The dog really was going to drive her crazy unless she took drastic measures, and drastic by Elizabeth’s standards was any kind of physical activity before at least two cups of coffee, and after noon. She tossed her glasses to skitter across the table, stuffed her feet into the most convenient pair of shoes she could find and grabbed a random sweatshirt from the pile of laundry in the corner of the couch. Almost belatedly remembering her house keys, Elizabeth stalked next door to confront her canine foe.

Now, that same little dog strained determinedly at the end of its leash, entirely unphased as Elizabeth tugged in opposition to its struggling. Too late, Elizabeth realized that her goal of tiring out the dog with a walk might cause her even more frustration in the process, what with the dog’s frantic response to the added stimulation of merely being outdoors. It darted from a toddler in a bright blue beanie twirling in circles to a pair of schnauzers in red sweaters, zig-zagged back to nose at an abandoned soccer ball, then pranced over to snarl at a feeding pair of geese, all as fast as its little legs could move. The geese hissed in response, the dog jerked sharply to flee, and suddenly, the leash snapped in two.

Despite the dog’s diminutive size, Elizabeth nearly pitched face-first onto the sidewalk as the thin, worn leather went slack in her hand. The dog paused for a fraction of a second, glancing back at Elizabeth curiously, as if it realized the resistance was gone but wasn’t quite sure how to react, then scampered away in a flurry of noise when it recognized freedom was at hand.

Elizabeth chased after the black and white blur, cursing profusely before some part of her brain remembered the young ears within shouting distance- she was definitely shouting, and the damn dog was definitely not listening. She nearly stumbled several times, finally wrenching the thin rubber off her feet as the dog widened the gap between them, then disappeared completely from her line of sight into the vast pan of the nearby park. Exasperated, Elizabeth threw up her arms and let fly a few choice words, especially when the broken leash smacked her cheek, not caring who heard her this time.

Elizabeth searched every inch of the park- or at least the bulk of the area she could remember without a map- for a very long hour. The thought briefly crossed her mind- twice, maybe three times- to give up and hope the dog made its way home, but her conscience prickled with the niggling worry that it might lose an ill-advised battle with those geese, so she kept searching. Sweaty and more than a little cranky, Elizabeth finally spotted the wretched animal curled in the lap of a dark-haired man in running clothes and raced toward the bench on which they were sitting.

As Elizabeth reached the duo, her bare feet skidded to a halt on grass still slick from the lingering morning dew, and she doubled over, gasping for breath.

“Are you okay?” The question prodded the edges of her consciousness, slowly seeping through the steady pounding of blood in her head until she registered the words and their meaning.

When Elizabeth peered through strands of blonde escaping from her ponytail, two pairs of eyes stared back at her-- the hazel ones with sincere concern, the darker ones with mocking glee.

The slap of Henry McCord’s sneakers on the asphalt echoed rhythmically in his ears, then faded under the thoughts swirling in his head. He normally enjoyed the silence or the sounds of nature; a Walkman was too bulky, and he preferred using the miles to reflect, maybe sort through the main ideas of his latest paper, or just to literally clear his head. This morning, he couldn’t stop thinking of the pre-dawn conversation with his mother as he sifted through the emotions weighing heavy on his heart. His pace was slower than usual, but he let his body take the lead, his legs knowing the route by habit.

He always rose at dawn, sometimes before, depending on the seasons; partly due to his body’s inherent timing, honed after years of military training. He liked to start the day early, preferring the hours before the world woke, finding himself most productive in the quiet. Even when he saw midnight-- or later-- from long nights of studying, his routine never changed. His mom knew his habits, knew when he best could process her news from home, so Henry sat with coffee and his tears as the sun brought the day to life, listening to the soft melody of her voice. He contemplated ditching his run but knew he’d never settle if he sat at home brooding.

Ambient noise danced in his subconscious as he jogged over the curb onto the sidewalk of McIntire Park. He vaguely registered the happy sounds of children squealing, but raucous barking jarred him suddenly back to the stark reality he was trying to ignore for just a few more hours. His knees gave out slightly at the pang of grief, and his foot faltered on the sharp edge where concrete met grass, twisting slightly in the soft blanket of leaves spread over the ground. He slowed to catch his balance and shook his ankle to dislodge the stick poking at his skin. When the pressure sharpened, Henry’s peripheral vision told him the stick wasn’t a stick at all, but a small, fluffy black and white dog, its teeth sunk into the cotton of his sock.

The animal wasn’t much longer than Henry’s forearm, and he stopped in his tracks, careful not to step on tiny paws or a tail. Undeterred, the dog wrestled with its apparent quarry, its entire body flailing as it nearly toppled itself, then twisted and rolled over Henry’s shoe. More charmed than concerned, Henry shuffled to a wooden bench a few feet away, the dog determinedly hanging on by its teeth.

Henry sat, the water bottle he’d been carrying down next to him, then attempted to untangle the shreds of soggy, mangled cotton from the jaws of his new canine friend.

“You’ve got some sharp teeth for such a little thing,” Henry murmured, and searched around the bench for something to distract the dog’s attention. Seeing no sticks in arm’s reach, he changed tactics, running his fingers over its coat of fur, scratching lightly. The dog immediately abandoned its attack on Henry’s sock, arching under his hands, butt wiggling high in the air, whimpering in obvious pleasure. Then it leaped over his shoes, tumbled ears over tail, and raced in three tight circles before jumping into Henry’s lap, nosing back under his hands immediately. Henry laughingly obliged, settling back as he let his mind drift through memories as he stroked the softness.

Friendly growling suddenly rumbled under his hands, and Henry startled from his musings in time to see a young woman in a UVA sweatshirt running barefoot towards him, arms flailing. Her blonde tail of hair bobbed in the sunlight as she waved a leash in one hand and what looked to be sandals in the other. Henry instinctively reached out as she tripped, then managed to stop rather abruptly, yet with surprising grace, at his feet.

“Damn fucking dog,” she muttered, bent at the waist, torso heaving. The dog snapped at her waterfall of hair, nearly catching the strands in its teeth before Henry could pull it back further into his lap. The woman tossed the leash and shoes- rather thin flip flops, Henry noticed- haphazardly on the ground to brace her hands on denim-clad thighs.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she gasped.

Shifting her weight to one arm, Elizabeth swooped the other at him and the dog, the latter of whom was now vibrating quietly in ecstasy as the man scratched behind its silken ears.

“That’s my dog you have.” Elizabeth sucked in another breath, deeper this time, and words rushed out on her exhale.

“Well, not my dog. My neighbors’ dog. That I’m watching. Well, not watching. Not doing a great job of watching. Or walking. And now chasing.” Elizabeth wheezed through each staccato phrase, then puffed away the wayward hair from her face and pushed herself upright.

Henry’s gaze narrowed in concern at the rosy flush in her cheeks even as his lips threatened to curve at her rambling commentary. “You might want to take a breath,” he offered.

“I’m trying, thanks.” Blue eyes sparked at him in exasperation, then scowled at the dog.

Henry offered her some of his water, jiggling the bottle to get her attention. “Are you sure you’re okay?” The dog began whining as soon as Henry’s hand stilled on its back.

“I’m fine.” She waved off the drink with a flip of her hand. “I’d have been better if I hadn’t agreed to take care of this little terror.”

“She’s sweet,” Henry countered, “although she was a bit energetic when we met.” A grin tugged at his cheeks when he looked down at his lap, where the dog lay quietly once again.

“That’s an understatement,” Elizabeth snapped back. “Bane of my existence, I swear, and it’s not even mine.”

“She’s not yours?” Henry asked.

“Nope. And definitely wouldn’t be after that stunt.” Elizabeth’s chin dipped to her chest, concentrating on her balance as she flipped her shoes upright with her brightly painted toes, then slid one foot, then the other, into the rubber thongs.

Henry’s jaw tensed. “You obviously don’t like dogs.” He usually prided himself for not rushing to judgment, but based on this woman’s actions, he couldn’t help himself. Henry draped one arm along the back of the bench and shifted his torso towards her, easing into the curve of the seat. The dog lifted its head, briefly, glancing between the two of them, then laid back down with a sigh.

Elizabeth’s head jerked up, her feet firmly planted now. “I don’t not like them. Dogs are fine. They’re cute, mostly. Yappy dogs are neither fine nor cute.”

Henry just watched her, expression placid, but his hands never idle. The dog sprawled out on his lap, pink tongue hanging out of a continuous yawn, panting up at him in sheer adoration.

Elizabeth sighed inwardly at the man’s inability to concede her point, then pressed on. “That thing barks all the time. In the yard. In the house. First thing in the morning.” She fisted the bottom edge of her sweatshirt in both hands, and stripped it off mid-sentence, her voice muffled as she disappeared in the folds of the material. “You’d think some of us need to study, or would like to sleep in on occasion. Nope,” she continued, head popping loose from the collar.

“The walls are too thin for that kind of noise. Even sex can be ignored. That,” she jerked her head toward the dog, “cannot.” Elizabeth pulled her arms free, then wiped beads of sweat from her hairline with her sleeve. Peter Frampton graced the front of her tee, tattered with tiny holes, ratty at the cuffs. Henry briefly wondered if the dog had gotten ahold of her shirt like it had his sock.

Henry slid his arm down to his side and scooted a few inches to his right. “Well, here, if you don’t want water, at least sit down.” His fingertips tapped a staccato on the wooden planks next to his hip.

Still slightly winded, Elizabeth flopped on the bench with a grunt of thanks, her sweatshirt a lump of grey clutched in her lap. The faint scent of lavender and citrus drifted softly on the breeze. The dog stiffened, snapped its tiny jaws in her direction.

“See,” her statement was as sharp as her icy stare, the stubborn jut of her chin.

“She probably senses you don’t like her,” Henry said. “Or she’s trying to establish her alpha position. You both seem to have rather strong personalities.”

“Dog whisperer, are you?” She arched a thin eyebrow, her lips flat with indignation. Elizabeth wasn’t about to acknowledge his last comment. “And how do you know it’s a she?” That blue gaze narrowed suspiciously.

“Deductive reasoning, my dear Sherlock.” Henry rubbed his thumb and forefinger next to his cheek in a mock imitation of twirling his mustache. When Elizabeth’s demeanor didn’t crack at his attempted humor, Henry pursed his lips and harrumphed to himself. “Okay, basic biology and a little logic,” he admitted.

Henry tucked his finger under the thin pink collar and slid it around until a tiny metal piece winked in the sunlight. Henry flipped over the tag to reveal “Maggie” in delicate cursive type.

“I take it you’re not Camilla.”

“What?” Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in confusion.

Henry jiggled the tag.“There’s another name and number here. I figured if no one found her before I left, I’d use the payphone at the coffee shop to see if I could get her home.”

“Oh. Yeah. I mean, no.” Elizabeth cringed, crossing her arms across her chest. The fingers of her right hand began worrying the cloth over her left bicep. “Elizabeth. I’m Elizabeth. Adams. Camilla is my neighbor. The dog’s owner. Well, obviously. Duh,” she stammered, embarrassment staining her cheeks.

A cool breeze ruffled through the branches above them, sending color fluttering through the air. Elizabeth watched a single red leaf float slowly to the ground while she let her thoughts settle. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to explain herself to a complete stranger, but the impression she’d created by her admittedly irrational behavior left her rattled.

“Listen, I really don’t hate dogs. I’m not a monster or anything. I’ve been around dogs. Barn dogs. Big dogs.” Elizabeth straightened her right arm, elbow locked, cocked her wrist so her palm lay flat, measuring mid-thigh if she were standing. “Goldens and Shepherds. Rotties. They weren’t crazy like this one.” She cast a wary eye at the now-dozing Maggie. “The horses loved ‘em.”

Henry just listened, hazel eyes patiently following her movements. Her voice was deep, throaty, and he found himself wanting to hear her laugh.

“A horse would trample this thing. There was a Corgi once, for about a week, I think.” Elizabeth shuddered delicately. “That didn’t go so well.” She rubbed her fist at the pinch between her brows and shook her head slightly. “Dogs aren’t supposed to be this small,” she insisted. “She’s like a mop with legs.” 

Elizabeth ventured another glance at the dog, and then at the man holding her. She had felt his gaze on her throughout her awkward monologue, but he never responded. His eyes crinkled when they met hers, his lips curved in a warm smile. Then his expression sobered as if a cloud passed through his vision.

“My mom had a dog very much like this once.” Henry looked down at the dog, who’d woken up and was licking his hand. “Kenny was like a daschsund poodle mix or something. A lot of somethings.” His smile was ripe with melancholy. “He’d curl up on my mom’s lap while she was knitting. Sometimes on mine while I was studying. Dogs this size are good for cuddling. My dad used to make fun of the dog: it’s size, it’s gender, make fun of me for loving him.” His timbre deepened, grew harsher, meaner. “‘No real man carries around a dog the size of a woman’s purse.’”

Henry pulled a face at the memory, and his shoulders drooped slightly. “But he was sweet, like this one.” The dog wriggled in Henry’s lap, then flipped onto its back.

They both sat silent for a moment, watching Henry’s fingers glide over the dog’s soft pink belly. Her tail beat a pattern against the wood of the bench, whooshing fluff against Elizabeth’s arm.

“You said ‘was’?” Elizabeth asked.

Henry was so lost in thought he jerked when she spoke, despite the gentleness in Elizabeth’s tone.

“Yeah, he died last night. Old age. He had a good life. I couldn’t bring him to school with me- he was my mom’s dog, anyway- but at least I got to see him on trips home.” His voice grew softer as he talked. “It's gonna be weird not having him racing around the tree this Christmas. He loved to attack the ornaments.” Henry swallowed, then blinked a few times before wiping the back of his hand over the tears glistening on his cheeks. “Mom would hang the same ones on the bottom branches every year, just for him. Most of them had teeth marks; some were pretty torn up, but she didn’t care.” 

He didn’t seem reluctant to show emotion, rare for a man, even rarer still that the emotion was over an animal. Elizabeth felt like an intruder into his sacred space, especially given her earlier rant, but yet welcomed by the intimacy of his revelation. His grief strangely weighed heavy on her, too.

“I’m sorry, umm…,” Elizabeth cleared her throat, jarring the leaden stillness enveloping them. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Henry. Henry McCord.”

“I’m sorry, Henry. I really am.” Compassion roughened her voice. “You obviously loved him.” Elizabeth resisted the sudden urge to lay her hand over his. “I’d feel the same way about my horses.”

When Henry turned to her, sorrow darkened his eyes; he found comfort in the sincerity shining back from hers.

“So why are you out here, anyway, walking a dog you,” he paused, scrubbing a hand over his hair down to his neck, fingers kneading into the tendons at the base of his skull, “aren't’ fond of?” His question was more wistful than accusatory, prompted by his own sentimental memories.

“I thought I’d tire her out. I couldn’t study with her constant barking.”

Sorrow melted into curiosity. “But she’s not your dog, so my question still stands.”

“My neighbors are out of town. I agreed to watch Maggie because I’m off classes. I figured studying at home was easier than going back and forth from the library a few times a day, but I’m second-guessing that decision.”

“Dogs just want attention and to be with their humans,” Henry said.

Elizabeth propped her left elbow on her knee and rested her cheek on her fist, tilting her chin towards Henry. “I’m not her human. She doesn’t like me any more than I like her.”

“You’ve made that obvious and she knows it. Change her mind.”

“Because you can reason with a dog.” Elizabeth snorted skeptically “Already tried that.”

“Let her sit next to you or on your lap when you study,” Henry suggested, his amusement growing with every persistent rebuttal she threw at him.

Elizabeth grimaced, peering down at her lap, where the sweatshirt pressed against her stomach.

“She’s not very big, even for you.” Henry’s eyes followed her gaze, misunderstanding her irritation at the suggestion. “You’ll hardly notice her.”

“She sheds everywhere.” Elizabeth raised her torso enough to brush off her sweatshirt with a flick of her joined fingers, stirring the tiny hairs attached to the material so they floated in the air.

“So you don’t hate dogs, you’re just a fashion snob.” If sarcasm had an expression, Henry nailed it perfectly. He rubbed the curve of his jaw with his knuckles, the hint of morning stubble rasping under the friction.

“Touche.” Elizabeth sighed, a mangled noise catching in the back of her throat, suddenly fixated with picking at the paint stains on her jeans. “I’m not a snob or a shrew, and I sound like both.” She rolled her head in a circle a few times, first one way, then the other. Her hair flopped with the motion, catching the dog’s attention, although it was too content to do more than turn its head. “Philosophy of Religion is stressing me out,” she admitted. “I’m not in the best headspace for a good first impression.”

“Are you a religion major?” Henry’s face lit up, and he straightened with interest. “I’ve never seen you around Gibson.”

Elizabeth shook her head, and her hair tumbled into her eyes again. “Math.” She shoved at the offending strands, then when the haphazard tangle refused to cooperate, unwound and re-tied her ponytail in quick, efficient movements.

Henry found himself fascinated with such a simple, feminine task and had to mentally shake himself to focus on her rather confusing answer. “So why take POR, then?”

“Because I’m a glutton for punishment?” Elizabeth frowned, brow pinched. “Expanding my horizons?” Then she huffed, shoulders jerking with the exhale. “Pick your cliche.”

Henry sensed she was dancing around the truth, and let it go. “Well, it's not an easy class, I’ll give you that. Pearson seems like a hard ass, but he’ll make you think, and he’s a fair grader.”

Elizabeth snorted and rolled her eyes. “Sure he is. There was nothing fair about the redlining on my last paper.”

“He had his reasons. Study those comments for his exams. Trust me.”

“You’ve had him before?”

“Pearson?” Henry nodded. “Several times in undergrad.”

“God.” Elizabeth shuddered. “So I’ll ask you: why?”

“Religion major. Current grad student. I’ve T.A’d for him, too.” Henry wasn’t sure why he offered that information. His particular course of study obviously wouldn’t impress her.

“Oh. Ha. No pun intended by the— .” Elizabeth twirled her hand in the air, trailing off. Then her eyes widened as her face twisted in dismay. “Or offense either.”

Henry laughed, and attraction flickered pleasantly through Elizabeth’s belly. “Some of us actually enjoy it.”

She smirked. “That explains the interrogation.” Elizabeth waved a hand between them. “I bet you love Socrates.”

Henry hummed noncommittally. “Pearson is a cakewalk next to Willis. Supposedly there’s a method to his madness, but I never figured it out. He’s the one most students try to avoid.”

“Good to know. Although I’m done with religion for the foreseeable future if I can just get through this semester.”

While they’d been talking, Maggie stirred in Henry’s lap, stretching out to delicately sniff in Elizabeth's direction. Distracted by their conversation, Elizabeth put her hand on the fluffy head without thinking and startled when the dog jumped to her lap.

“See?” Henry echoed her earlier reprimand, his lips tugging up at the corners as he schooled his face into a serious expression. “Dogs are a good judge of character, you know.”

“You're just saying that because she likes you.” Elizabeth shoved at him playfully with her shoulder.

“She likes you, too.” As if to prove the truth in Henry’s statement, the dog turned three wobbly circles over the curves of Elizabeth’s thighs, then settled into the crease of her legs with a contented sigh.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile at the twinkling humor in his eyes. “You’re not going to say I told you so, are you?”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Henry promised. He bent his arms up, palms out in pledge.

The dog suddenly tensed, surging to its stubby legs as a gaggle of geese meandered into its view. Her shrill barking antagonized the birds, who marched at the bench, honking fiercely. Their long black necks snaked aggressively toward Maggie, who dove cowering into the crook of Elizabeth’s elbow.

Elizabeth threw her head back and laughed, long and lusty. Henry’s entire body tightened at the sound; it was as husky and sensual as he’d imagined. He had a sudden flash of his lips on the curve of her throat and his pulse skipped a beat.

“I’ve never actually seen her afraid of anything. I wasn’t so sure she’d have the good sense to run from it.” Elizabeth tucked her arms protectively around the trembling animal.

“I don’t blame her. Have you ever been attacked by one?”

Elizabeth whipped her head around to look at him, her mouth slightly agape in surprise. When she realized Henry was dead serious, she caught her lip between her teeth, stifling her laughter. “Never. I’m afraid to ask.”

As the geese finally waddled off, honking amongst themselves, the dog peered from under Elizabeth’s sweatshirt where she’d buried herself and ventured a final timid bark.

“You know, she seems perfectly happy right where she is,” Henry noted.

“If she stays calm long enough I can study, I’ll let you say I told you so.”

“Give her a chance. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Well, the worst that can happen is I fail my midterms. Let’s not go there, shall we,” Elizabeth nearly pleaded. “I’d like to get past Pearson relatively unscathed, but I’ve got even bigger problems if I fail Differential Equations.”

“Think positive. The worst that can happen is you find out you like dogs.”

Elizabeth protested with a resounding huff. “I told you, I --.”

“I know, I know, you do like dogs,” Henry interrupted with a chuckle. He nudged her knee with his, earning a one-eyed glare from the dog, but a wide grin from Elizabeth.

Warmed by the mid-morning sun, Elizabeth rolled the cuffs at her wrists, pushing her sleeves up her forearms. Sunlight reflected off her watch face, and Maggie pounced on the glare, roused by the promise of a potential toy. Elizabeth giggled at the tickle of fur and teeth on her wrist, but when she pulled the dog away, her grin slowly faded as she noted the time. “As much as I’d like to continue this debate over my views on the canine species, I really need to get back to the books.”

Henry frowned at his own watch. “I should get going again, too. I still have five miles.”

“Five miles? Where? What for?” Elizabeth stuttered, incredulous. “Running?”

“I do 10 on Saturdays.”

“So you’re the glutton for punishment, huh?” Elizabeth hadn’t noticed the Cavalier Battalion printed on his t-shirt until that moment. Her gaze lingered much longer than necessary, following the trail of sweat down his chest to his running shorts and down muscled legs. She realized in her frenzied outburst over the dog she’d almost missed just how hot he was.

“It's an easy loop from Maury to the park and back up McIntire. I got a late start after my mom called about Kenny this morning. Took a break when this one started biting at my ankles.”

Elizabeth winced, both in apology and the fervent hope he hadn’t caught her ogling his body. “I walked from Kimbark and thought that was a hike. That hill on Westwood is a killer.”

“Well, in those shoes, probably so.” Henry pointedly looked down at her feet.

Elizabeth shrugged and straightened her legs, wiggling her toes against the soles of her flip flops. “I was desperate.”

“Here.” Henry reached down for the leash laying in the grass, then for the remains laying between them. He tied the lengths in a square knot, then snapped the leash back on Maggie’s collar. “That should hold for now.”

“Thanks, Macguvyer.”

The dog leaped from the bench so quickly Elizabeth nearly missed snatching the leash, which Maggie then proceeded to tangled herself in as she darted excitedly between Henry and Elizabeth.

“Looks like someone is ready to go.” Henry reached down to carefully unwind the leather from the dog’s leg.

“She is, anyway.” The dog trotted a few feet away, then spun in a circle and raced back, but Elizabeth ignored her. She gripped the bench with her left hand, rubbing her thumb over the curved edge while she hesitated.

When neither Henry nor Elizabeth made any attempt to move, Maggie began to whine. Henry squatted next to the dog, scratching just above its tail, keeping his eyes on Elizabeth’s face.

“Um, so…,” Henry ventured gingerly. “Maybe next Saturday we could meet for coffee?” He hadn’t missed Elizabeth’s scrutiny of his body, and hoped she might be interested in more; he certainly wanted to see her again. “That cafe is just up on the corner past the elementary school. Appropriately named C’Ville Coffee.” Henry jerked his chin over his shoulder to indicate the direction. “It's not too far of a walk in the right shoes.” He winked at Elizabeth.

“What about your 10 miles?”

“I can make them up on Sunday.”

“You just want to see her again.” Her voice rose in almost a hopeful question.

“She’s a nice side benefit. The cafe is dog friendly. But I’d really rather see you.”

“Alright,” Elizabeth conceded, her fake reluctance hiding the thrill from his admission. “Assuming this one cooperates. Otherwise, neither of us will survive the week.”

Henry laughed at the veiled threat in her voice. “I bet you coffee and the best blueberry muffin in the city that you’ll not only survive, you’ll be her human by then.” He caressed the dog's head one last time, then stood up, offering his hand to Elizabeth.

“Okay, deal.” Her lips curved fully, her smile blooming roses in her cheeks. “10 am, then?” She wedged her sweatshirt under her arm and put her hand in his, their fingers tangling warmly.

“Just remember what I said.” Henry let their hands linger a moment before pulling Elizabeth to her feet.

“Be her human. Got it.” Elizabeth didn’t want to let go, even with the promise of seeing him again. Suddenly, Maggie jerked Elizabeth’s arm across her body, nearly twisting her around where she stood.

“Whoa, girl.” She slipped on the rubber soles of her shoes, losing Henry’s grip in an effort to keep her balance.

Henry put his fingers to his lips, blowing out a shrill whistle. Maggie stopped in her tracks, plopping on her butt immediately.

Elizabeth jumped at the unexpected noise, and her jaw dropped when she realized the dog had heeded the command and sat like a statue, watching Henry expectantly. “What the hell?” She stared at the dog a long moment, then appraised Henry slyly. “Well, that was rather impressive.”

Henry’s expression sharpened with intensity, his eyes heating at Elizabeth’s reaction. “So how do I find you when you aren’t chasing her?” He didn’t bother to hide the attraction in his voice anymore.

“Just run down Kimbark. The house with the yippy dog.” Elizabeth snickered, then continued, her tone laden with suggestion. “If by some miracle she’s not barking, I’m usually in Main, fifth floor, northeast corner, second carrel nearest to the window. It's much quieter up there.”

Her eyes locked with Henry’s until the leash snapped taut in her hand, as Maggie, impatient with the lack of movement, wriggled and tugged to get their attention. Reluctantly, Elizabeth clicked her teeth at the dog, who scrambled down the path, panting gleefully.

“Bye, Henry. See you Saturday.”

Henry watched Elizabeth and Maggie until they reached the edge of the park, where Elizabeth glanced back and waved. Henry raised his arm in acknowledgment, then began running in the opposite direction, whistling to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the lilacmermaid prompt: Henry’s dog died recently, and Elizabeth’s dog goes over to him, sensing that he needs some cheering up- that’s how the two humans meet for the first time. 
> 
> With some Easter eggs for fans of Inked, with permission (and in appreciation for the brainstorming) from nonadhesiveness. (If you haven’t read Inked, GO READ IT.) 
> 
> Happy birthday, teaismyqueen. I kind of hijacked your request; I hope the result is not disappointing. 
> 
>   
> The dogs initially had different names, but they’re now named after my maternal grandparents. My grandmother died last week after complications due to COVID-19, and theirs was quite a love story, perhaps much like that of the fictional McCords, with similar adventures along the way.


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